


Regrets

by Stacy LA Stronach (slashgirl)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-01
Updated: 2006-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashgirl/pseuds/Stacy%20LA%20Stronach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Bogeyman, Hotch tries to deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt Hotch would clean his gun in his office, but, well, fictional license. I guess this falls under the gen category…but oh, well. Hotch is so intriguing.

"Hey baby there ain't no easy way out, hey I will stand my ground  
And I won't back down, no, I won't back down"  
Tom Petty, "I won't back down"

"The supreme quality for leadership is unquestionably integrity. Without it, no real success is possible, no matter whether it is on a section gang, a football field, in an army, or in an office."—Dwight D. Eisenhower

***********************

Aaron Hotchner watches through his office window as she leaves for the last time. "I'm gonna miss you, too," he says, even though Elle Greenaway can't hear him.

He stares at her gun and badge; he wishes that it had not come to this, that they hadn't put Elle undercover when she obviously wasn't ready, and, not for the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't such a man of integrity, such a believer in right and wrong, such an upholder of the law. Leaning back in his chair, he sighs, and the words of his maternal grandfather come to him: "If wishes were horses, my boy, beggars would ride."

As a child, he hadn't really understood what that meant, now, Hotch knows it, all too clearly.

There are things he could have told Elle to console her, to let her know he understood what she was going through.

He has died before. Twice, in fact, from the same injury: once in the ambulance and again on the operating table. He knows how that experience can change one's life. He could've told her that he understands why she did what she did…and he could've told her that his own quest for vengeance is what killed him in the first place. He could've told her that in the years since then, he's felt that urge, the urge to take the law into his own hands, dispense it through the deadly accuracy of his gun…but that dying has made that impossible for him to do.

Hotch could have told her all these things and more. But now, it was too late to do Elle any good. He wonders if he had told her before she shot Lee, before they worked on that case, if things might've turned out differently.

He doesn't think so. She wouldn't have been ready to hear them, especially not from him; she blames him for her getting shot. Of course, he holds that guilt, that remorse inside himself, beside all the other guilt and remorse and regret that are in his heart and in his soul.

Reaching out, he picks up her gun and badge, sets them to the side of his desk so he can return to his work. After ten minutes of reading the same paragraph ten times, Hotch pushes away from his desk and stands. He can't focus on this right now; he needs to lose himself, to not think about Elle and how the team is going to react to her leaving. He looks at his watch and he's got two hours before the team returns, more than enough time to fire a few rounds on the range.

*********

"Hey, Hotch, come to practice?" Sam MacLeod asks. He's short, with a wiry build and keeps his white hair cut in a military style buzz cut. He's run the range at Quantico since before Hotch came to the BAU and the man knows his weapons and knows them well.

Hotch nods at the older man. "Yeah, Mac. Give me a few clips, please."

Mac opens the cabinet and pulls out five clips, sliding them over his desk to Hotch. Reaching behind him, Mac grabs a pair of ear defenders and goggles, putting them next to the ammunition. "There ya go."

"Thanks," Hotch replies. He likes Mac; he knows when you want to talk and, more importantly, when you don't. Hotch walks down the gallery and is glad that it isn't busy. There are three other people here, no one he knows personally, and he's able to get a spot to himself, away from the others.

He takes his gun out and checks it, making sure it's in working order before setting the target to its furthest spot. Hotch takes his shooting stance, raises his sidearm, his eyes automatically going from the back site to the front bead and lining up his shot. His first shot is accurate and on a human, deadly.

Firing shot after shot, Hotch falls into the rhythm of it. Aiming, the muted blast of the gunshot, the recoil in his arms and shoulders, the barely audible ping as the empty casings fall to the cement floor and the acrid scent of gunpowder. The control and accuracy of it all soothes his mind, the routine is grounding him.

When he feels the twinge in his shoulder, he fires the rounds left in the last clip. He sets the safety before gathering up the empty clips and taking them back over to Sam's desk, setting them down, along with the ear defenders and goggles.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Bad day, huh?"

Hotch nods. "Pretty bad."

Sam hands him a full clip. "There you go, Hotch."

"Thanks, Mac," he says, putting the clip into the gun and holstering his weapon. "I'll catch you later."

"Sure thing. Hope things improve for you."

Hotch doesn't reply because he knows that it will be a long time before that happens.

When he gets back to his office, he opens a window, letting in the chill fall air. He opens the cabinet behind his desk and takes out the cleaning kit for his gun along with a large towel.

He moves a small table closer to the window and pulls up a chair. Taking his gun out, he sets it on the table and sits down. He takes the clip out, setting it aside and makes sure that there are no rounds in the chamber. Piece by piece he disassembles his gun and cleans it thoroughly. He oils it before putting it together and sits back when he's finished. Staring at the gun for a few minutes, he again wonders what he could've done differently…and reaches the same conclusion he did earlier.

Standing, he holsters his gun and then he picks up the cleaning pads, throwing them in the garbage. He puts the cleaning kit back together and folds the towel up. Hotch returns the table where it belongs and pushes his chair back before finally closing the window.

*************   
A half hour later and Hotch is standing in his office doorway, watching as his team returns. He looks at them, waiting for their reactions to Elle's empty desk.

JJ closes her eyes, briefly, before taking a deep breath and releasing it. She hardly pauses on her way to her office.

Morgan sits in his chair, staring at Elle's desk. He's frowning but he's more resigned than angry, as if he were expecting this particular result.

Reid is stunned. He stares at Elle's desk as he walks by it and is still looking at it when he sits in his chair. Reid looks up at Hotch; he can see the confusion and betrayal in Reid's eyes, on his face. Hotch knows that Reid truly believed what Elle had told them and that Reid can't believe she might have lied.

Gideon is a few steps behind the others coming into the bullpen and Hotch watches him as he rounds the corner and sees Elle's desk. Gideon's face drops; his expression is a mix of sadness, resignation and anger. He looks up and sees Hotch staring at him. Hotch shakes his head once, before lowering his gaze and walking back into his office.

Hotch is standing at the window, staring out into the night, when Gideon enters a minute later. Elle's things are still on his desk and he hears Gideon's indrawn breath when he sees them.

"She quit? Did she admit—"

"No, she said her resignation wasn't admission of guilt, of course. She said that she couldn't handle the job anymore."

"This isn't you fault, Hotch—"

"Isn't it? I'm the one who got her shot, I'm the one who let her go undercover—" he pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath and getting his anger under control. "You should tell the team."

Gideon shifts on his feet. "I think they'd do better hearing it from you."

Hotch snorts and turns around, glaring at Gideon. "Of course they would." He strides to his door, ignoring the hand Gideon reaches out to him. He looks out over the bullpen; JJ is down talking with Reid and Morgan. "Round table room, five minutes!" he barks.

"Aaron—" Gideon puts a hand on his shoulder. Hotch jerks his shoulder away from Gideon's touch and doesn't look back. Instead, he stands straighter and walks down the hallway to the round table room.

Alone.


End file.
